


Last Night, I Had a Dream

by minkhollow



Category: Rent
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-13
Updated: 2008-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of three dream sequences, almost but not quite entirely post-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this a couple of years ago, but it didn't really settle into anything solid until the last couple of days. (I wrote one and a half of the three parts, and didn't look back to those when writing this.)  
> Characters belong to Jonathan Larson, or whoever's got run of his estate these days; I borrow out of love.

Roger doesn't have anywhere else to be, really, but the 24-hour diner; the car's not very comfortable for sleeping in, not that the sticky booth is all that much better. He'd love more than anything to _not_ be in this hellhole of a restaurant, in this hellhole of a city - well, Omaha's more of a glorified suburb than anything, but the point stands - in this hellhole of a flatter-than-a-pancake state. No _wonder_ nobody wants to live in Nebraska. There's nothing _here_.

It'd help if he could stop seeing pieces of Mimi in the locals. One with her hair, another with her skin tone and cheeks, even some pasty chick looking completely ridiculous in those blue rubber pants. It's fucking stupid, especially when he came all this way to forget about her.

"You're a real dumbass, you know that?"

Roger blinks. He must be asleep, because Angel's sitting on the other side of the booth like nothing happened, waiting for an answer.

"How do you mean?"

"...You don't really have to ask me that question, do you?"

"Oh, come on. Can you blame me for leaving?"

Angel sighs. "Actually, _yes_, I can. Since you basically started a huge fight on _my_ account, in the middle of the goddamn cemetery, when you had no excuse to blow her off and run away from what's left of your friends."

"And what would you have me do if I was there? I can't drag her away from her drugs or her rich married boy."

"Maybe you could, if you gave yourself the chance. Besides, there's Mark. You going to leave it at taking away both his best friends at once?"

Roger starts to protest - Mark's the rock, Mark never breaks, or if he does he buries it under about a dozen reels of film - but thinks better of it. Angel's got a point, damn her... but still.

"Thought he had his work to distract him. For a profit, this time."

Angel just gives him a look. "It's not enough, and you know that as well as I do. Now, you get your _ass_ back to New York, or I'll find a way to come back there and knock some sense into your skull, so help me God."

"How, genius? The car's dead."

"Get it fixed. Junk it and buy a bus ticket. I don't care. You're a smart boy, _you_ figure it out."

"Some help you are--"

And then there's a hand on his shoulder; a concerned waitress, it turns out, shaking him awake. "Hey, you all right?"

Her name tag says 'Mimi'; it's all Roger can do not to scream.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I... have to go."

And he does. He sells the car at a junkyard, and gets himself a Greyhound ticket back to New York; he thinks there's enough left after that, and taking food expenses into account, that he can get his guitar back once he's there.

Which is good, because all these chance encounters have finally chipped their way through his writer's block.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not fair.

It's not fair that Angel's gone, it's not fair that Roger's leaving, it's not fair that they're all falling apart, and it's not _fair_ that Mark has to watch it all happen again, even more powerless to stop it than he was originally.

You'd think, after a day like he had at Buzzline, he'd get off with a less painful dream, but no. He sits down next to a tree, trying to ignore all the yelling.

"Believe me, honey, I know the feeling."

And then he's on his feet again, clinging to Angel for all he's worth. Even if this _is_ a dream, it's better than nothing. He can't bring himself to say anything for several minutes - not that he's sure it would carry, over everybody's shouting.

"I miss you," he finally says.

"I know. I miss you guys too. But I'm getting better, and I _will_ see you again."

"I... I don't know, Angel. Roger's gone, Collins is trying to clear his head, not that I can blame him, I haven't seen any of the girls in weeks, I don't know if having an income is worth putting up with everybody else there, Mom keeps calling and trying to get me back home... what if she's right? What if I'm completely wrong in trying to do what I want? What if I _should_ just go home and get a real job?"

Angel sighs. "Listen to yourself, honey. You know damn well you'd never be happy if you did that."

"I know, I know, but... I don't know why I'm doing this anymore. I don't know why I'm still trying if I can't even help myself, never mind anyone else."

"You're still trying because you're too strong to give up."

Mark makes a face. "I don't know about that."

"I do. If you were going to break, you would've done it when April killed herself, or when Maureen walked out on you. You're strong enough to make it through all of this, whether you can see it or not."

"...I guess. But still."

Angel hugs him again. "It'll get better. But if you break down and stop now, you won't _see_ the better times. You know what you want to do, you know what's best for yourself - now get out there and do it."

And then he wakes up; the sky's just beginning to lighten. When Mark looks at the clock, it turns out he's got another hour before his alarm goes off. He can't get back to sleep; his mind is suddenly racing with ideas of what to do with his footage from the last year. And maybe a little more, if anyone ever comes back.

He calls Alexi's office phone and quits, then goes back to sleep. When he gets up, he'll start putting everything together.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not New York - but then, that was the idea.

Cincinnati has a charm all its own, actually, which isn't entirely surprising; most places of this size do, if they're doing it right. If Collins were of a mind to completely uproot himself, he'd strongly consider it, but he's a New Yorker at heart, and he can't leave Mark and everyone else hanging for _too_ long. He just needs to clear his head, somewhere that he's not expecting Angel around every corner.

(Besides, the lack of a subway system, or in fact much mass transit at all, would probably be a deal-breaker.)

In his dream, the park down by the river is positively swarming with people, sitting two and three deep onto the walkway, and on the grassy rise behind it. It's late summer, and just starting to get dark; from what he can see of the other bank, it's pretty packed, too. There's a very long barge in the middle of the river, and a conspicuously empty blanket on the top of the retaining wall; must be his cue to sit down.

Some people are talking, some are waving glow sticks, some are tossing beach balls around, some have their radios cranked up - but everyone's clearly waiting for something. Just what it is doesn't become apparent until just after it's properly dark; what follows is nothing short of magic.

It's easily the best damn fireworks show Collins has ever seen. He didn't even _know_ fireworks came in some of those colors; when he can hear bits of people's radios under the blasts, he can tell the two are actually coordinated, which is damned impressive. The cascade off of one of the bridges is particularly nice.

Not far into it, Collins feels a hand settle on his. He doesn't look, partly because he couldn't tear his eyes away from the display if he tried and partly because he's afraid it would ruin the entire dream - but he doesn't have to look. He knows exactly who it is.

The show seems to go on forever, but eventually, there's a final barrage (damn near bringing back daylight), and then it's over. He doesn't move as the majority of the crowd disperses; there's no point, yet.

After a while, Angel leans over, kisses his cheek, and slips a piece of paper into his hand. Then she's gone, but it doesn't hurt as much as he thought it might. And that's even before he reads the note: _Don't think you're rid of me yet._

Collins wakes up smiling for the first time since Angel went into the hospital.


End file.
